


This Was Molly

by Annorahrose



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, ILY (because of course), Sherlock’s mind is fun to explore, Sherlolly - Freeform, Spoilers for TFP, just a glimps in time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:14:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27621211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annorahrose/pseuds/Annorahrose
Summary: There’s a fine line between saying and telling.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper
Comments: 18
Kudos: 72





	This Was Molly

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MrsMCrieff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsMCrieff/gifts).



> Dedicated to MrsMCrieff, because life brings us both sorrow and comfort. I hope this tips the balance when you need it most. 
> 
> Many thanks to my new friend Carice for the first read and feedback. You were so generous, stepped up to help a very impatient stranger, and I am so grateful. 
> 
> Please note, I own nothing, and if Gatiss and Moffat didn’t want people to play with their toys they shouldn’t have shown them off in the first place (just teasing guys). 
> 
> Long authors note, my apologies. Brevity is not my strong suit. But stick with me if you can. 
> 
> In my heart, Sherlock is in love with Molly. I mean, please. But because those who created him (looking at you, Moffat and Gatiss) and embody him (c’mon, Benedict, just admit it, after that destroying-the-coffin-while-screaming-like-your-ass-was-on-fire performance we all know) have remained tight lipped and quite non-committal when it comes to speculation, I feel a bit torn. I am not a slave to canon, but I always have this nagging voice of insecurity in the back of my mind - would they approve of where I’m taking this?
> 
> This is a nod to that voice. I’m hoping it will shut up now, because it’s really crushing my vibe. 
> 
> I’m also taking my cues here from the man himself. There is a clip on YouTube that I’ve watched a bazillion times - it’s a Comic-Con excerpt at a Q&A with Benedict as he’s being asked for his thoughts on Sherlock and the possibility of a romantic relationship. I thought his answer was quite diplomatic - and he pointed out that in order for Sherlock to fall in love with someone he would need to view that person with as much regard as he holds for himself. He commented that he wasn’t sure Sherlock was there yet. Okay, that’s totally fair. I mean, it took the man, what, four, five years to recognize he had a friend? 
> 
> Maybe he is still in process. Maybe that process has begun. Maybe it looks a little like this. 
> 
> *dramatic pause*

“Say it. Say it like you mean it.”

Wait, what... ?

He glanced at Eurus with a slightly confused scowl, as if he hadn’t understood Molly’s words.

“Final 30 seconds.”

He felt a stab of panic. What the hell was she playing at? She just needed to say the words. Her feelings were beside the point. His feelings were beside the point. He forced himself to remember that she didn’t know the stakes involved. She just thought Sherlock was... being Sherlock. At her expense. It certainly wouldn’t have been the first time.

He needed her to understand. She must understand.

———-

This was Molly. This wasn’t some witness he needed to distract or source he had to manipulate. This was MOLLY. He may have had no problem charming her in the name of the work in the past, but now it felt like a betrayal.

She hadn’t just smuggled body parts to him and given him access to information that might otherwise have been restricted. She had been in love with him - not just infatuated but properly in love - for years. Anyone could see that she hadn’t gotten over him. She wouldn’t even admit to herself how deeply she felt for him, but Molly was a woman who followed her heart (sometimes without realizing it).

She never really gave up. She tried to ask him for coffee, though he dodged the invitation. She tried to make him jealous while simultaneously raving about him to a new love. She hadn’t been scared off or deterred in any way, even after finding out said love was a deranged psychopath. Even John had noticed that her fiancée was essentially a copy of Sherlock. Not a terribly good copy, but still.

Her reaction when she realized Sherlock had noticed her ring had been stark and almost regretful. It seemed time was never on her side. He knew she would break it off at some point and he knew he played an inadvertent part in that foregone conclusion.

There wasn’t anything she wouldn’t do for him, even after everything he had done to her in the past.

With Molly, as with most everything else, he always missed something. He missed that her feelings would leave her bold enough to risk wearing an out-of-character tight dress specifically for him and signing his Christmas gift with X’s and O’s. He missed the shock on her face when he identified what he believed to be Irene Adler’s body. He missed that she noticed things others hadn’t - and when he pulled her in to help with the kidnapping case that eventually led to Moriarity, she recognized that something deeper than the case was distressing him - and specifically that John was a part of it. He missed all of that until she commented that she didn’t count. That startled him. That unnerved him.

That was when he stopped missing things.

A switch had seemed to flip, and his mind rapidly pulled away and then refocused, zooming back in with a picture of her that looked quite different. Gone was the mental images of puppy-dog expressions and clumsy movements. Now he saw honest concern, respect, and a certain naive wisdom. She saw things. She observed. Again, she wasn’t scared off, and it wasn’t because she was an infatuated fool who refused to move on. It was because _she knew_ , she saw what others didn’t see.

She was intelligent, trustworthy, and one of the most capable of those in any part of his network. She wanted to help, and he knew she had the ability. It took the work of a few seconds to read her expression that day. She was offering herself to him, in whatever capacity he needed. She understood the depth and possibility of danger, and she still wanted to help.

Right, he needed to make this happen. Right now. Bloody hell... damned sentiment proving, once again, to be a possibly fatal defect. This - THIS - is why he did not indulge in love.

He knew in a distant, intellectual sense that he did love people. He knew that if he didn’t, he wouldn’t have fought so hard and risked so much to save John. To try (several times) to save Mary. To mourn her as he did. But he also did everything he could to disregard that knowledge in favor of keeping his mind clear and free of distraction.

Sherlock didn’t say “I love you”. Ever. He hadn’t said it to his parents since he was a child. He certainly never said it to Mycroft. He never said it for a case, not even to Janine.

But this was Molly. Eurus would not hesitate to destroy her, and Sherlock could not allow that. He had done many difficult things in the past for the sake of a case. Unfamiliar terrain was always a possibility. And this was far, far more important than a case. He just needed to say the damn words, not declare a love he did not feel with a rambling speech filled with flowery language.

This was Molly. His invaluable colleague. His trusted confidant.

His friend.

This was Molly.

———

He closed his eyes and took a breath, nodded to himself before bracing against the discomfort and unfamiliarity of the request. The order, rather. This was not negotiable. Not for Eurus, and not for Molly.

And he said it.

“I... I love you.”

There was a pause, only a second or two, and his thoughts traveled down two different paths simultaneously. His mind usually proceeded as a stream of consciousness moving at a lightning-quick speed, processing clues and facts and memories of prior conversations and impressions. Once an essential clue was revealed everything else slid into place at the same time, like a fully formed image that had dropped into his head.

What he was experiencing now was like two puzzles. One clear and easy to understand, and one muddled. One representing the facts of the exchange and deducing the next steps necessary to accomplish his goal. One tied to a tightness in his chest and a feeling like the bottom was about to drop out of his stomach, but with no idea whatsoever what he needed to do next 

She had told him to say it like he meant it.

His first attempt had been steady but forced, reciting the words as if they were an already understood fact. A slight emphasis on the word love, almost as if he were telling her something should have known. He hadn’t given enough thought to his cadence and how sincere he sounded.

She hadn’t responded. He watched her, standing in her kitchen, unaware that she had an audience for this incredibly vulnerable moment. As soon as he had begun to speak she had gasped, and her left hand had moved to cradle her right. As if she could hold his words a little longer if she held on tight enough. Her eyes fluttered. She huffed out a breath and a tiny smile flashed across her lips for a fleeting second, but she wasn’t drawing breath to speak, to give the release code.

Something shifted, something he felt but did not know how to comprehend. The muddled image of that puzzle pulsed behind his eyes, vaguely familiar, no clearer, but still vitality important.

This time it came out of his mouth without him fully realizing it. And it was... different. It was more confident, with a pleading lilt at the end. It was not a declaration of love, but it was a plea for her to understand. She must understand.

“I love you.”

For the first time in Sherlock’s whole life, he wondered if it could be true. For just a split-second he saw that muddled puzzle and wondered if it was love. Sentiment.

The clock was still ticking, and she was still in danger. He could not afford to get distracted. But in that moment of time, he wondered. Had he said the words she demanded he say? Or had he told her how he felt?

Had he said it, or had he told her?

**Author's Note:**

> Another theoretical peek into what’s going on under all those curls. What can I say, I was a psychology major and it makes me feel obligated to continually analyze absolutely everything to justify the degree, since I haven’t been able to use it much in my actual jobs before now. Those thing are expensive!
> 
> Anyway, I hoped you liked it. Now here’s where I beg for reviews and comments. PLEASE! I need validation!!! 😉❤️😊


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